


deep

by orphan_account



Series: rain [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen, Mental Health Issues, Suicide Attempt, based on my actual life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-30
Updated: 2016-08-30
Packaged: 2018-08-12 01:03:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7914337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account





	deep

Deep.

That's what dying felt like.

Deep and infinite and smooth.

\-----

I don't know why I do most of the things I do. I just do them. So when I decided to kill myself, it was, in fact, a completely random decision. My weapon of choice: my mothers prescription sleeping pills. For good measure I also sliced my wrists open, but that wasn't fatal in my case. (I do have a have a history of self harm in general, but more on that later.)

Apparently I was rude to the paramedics. Not surprising considering my typical sarcastic nature. I vaguely remember the moment they came. Not what they said, per se, but more the feeling of their hands, pulling me up. Pushing me down the hospital hallways. Hooking me up to various machines. I do remember screaming at them to let me sleep. Of course, had they done that, I would've gone into complete acute cardiac arrest. Dead in mere minutes.

They managed to save my life, in the end, but I _did_ die. For approximately one minute and fourteen seconds.

I didn't have any sort of "near death experience", or the like.

Everything just went dark and deep.

\-----

I woke up from my self induced coma after three days. Intensive care is expensive, by the way, so I don't recommend a pro-longed visit. The doctors were very nice, and explained the situation. 

It turns out that I almost permanently damaged my heart.

Almost being the key word.

I, being the young thing I was back then, healed up just fine. No complications, no surgeries, no medicine. They did tell me to keep it easy for a while. Just in case.

Eventually they sent in the psych consult.

She asked me all sorts of things. 

_"What's your favorite color?"_

_"Have you been abused?"_

_"Do you like this T.V. show?"_

_"Do you ever skip meals?"_

_"What's your dog's name?"_

_"Have you ever attempted suicide before?"_

No, actually. I never so much as thought about killing myself until I tried it.

Needless to say, I was shipped off to the mental hospital.

It was a two hour ride in the back of an ambulance just to get there. At least I had my music. I knew they would take that the first chance they got.

Nice place, looking back on it. Good doctors, good food, good success rate.

I did have fun there, despite myself and the situation. I thought of it as a vacation. In a way, it really was. I was allowed to skip finals at school _and_ I still passed all my classes.

\-----

Officially, we, the patients, were not allowed to speak with the one another.

Unofficially, nobody gave a shit about that rule.

Because of that, I made a few amazing temporary friends. Unfortunately, we were not allowed to exchange _any_ personal information. Not even last names. We all got a little upset about this. I'll probably forget their names, but I'll never forget the feeling they gave me. That feeling was hope.

I miss them sometimes. Mostly at night, when I'm thinking about how miserable and pathetic and just utterly sad I am. It stings a little to think about how I'll never see them again. I know we only were together a short time, and under some pretty bad circumstances, but once we saw each other cry into the phone and have panic attacks and flip out over the smallest thing, we got attached. We were all in there for different reasons, but we all got out because of one thing: we helped our own.

\-----

At first, I was only allowed in certain privileges. Eventually, over the course of my three week stay, they grew to trust and, I suspect, even like me.

I got to shower with the door closed, and sleep that way too. I was allowed two pudding cups instead of one. I was allowed outside whenever I asked, within reason.

It was pretty sweet.

Until I called my mom.

It's one of the only times I felt true shame, at least I perceived it that way, because I did cry. Just a little. It made me _want_ to go home, and what a strange feeling that was.

_My dog and cat were at home. My friends were at school. My books and tablet and journals were back in my room._

I resolved to get my shit together and get the fuck out of there. 

No matter how great the place actually was. 

\----- 

It took around three weeks. A short time, in comparison to the many other patients. Then again, I was never suicidal in the first place. I didn't have the kind of problem they could fix. 

Eventually they had to let me go. 

There was, as far as they knew, nothing that they could help me with. 

However, I wasn't exactly... truthful, during my stay. 

I _did_ have a problem. 

A problem that ran so deep they couldn't see it. Hell, I barely even knew it was there. I am a liar. They knew that. What they didn't know was that I lied to myself as much as I lied to others. 

\----- 

The problem is that I don't have a set personality. 

What I mean by that is when I met somebody, say a store clerk or a new teacher, I basically 'pick' a personality. 

It's not _exactly_ like that. In all reality, I'm sure it happens whether I'm aware of it or not. That means that for any given situation, I act in a completely different way. 

**Example One:** It's cold outside. I normally would wear a jacket, but today I decide I like to be cold. 

**Example Two:** I'm rude to someone I barely know, based on the way they say my name. The next day I like the way they say my name. 

**Example Three:** I'm writing this story in present tense, but I kept switching to past tense because it felt better. 

But that means I have no real sense of self. That gets frustrating. Even terrifying, if I'm being honest. I'm basically just an overused canvas that get painted over everyday. It's not my true colors on the canvas, it's just filler paint. It's just for show.

It can be a very subtle difference or it can be a glaring change.

I don't know how to fully express it.

I can say, that in my mind, it feels deep. 

\----- 

Inevitably, I ended back up in a mental hospital. This one is much closer to home. I'm not there for attempting to off myself. 

It's for threatening my therapist. 

I can't remember this incident in detail, but the basic gist of it is that I said some alarming things. 

Things such as: Wanting to hurt and/or kill someone. Namely my parents. More specifically my mother. 

My therapist called the cops, as is standard when a patient talks about murder and the like. 

Back to wonderland I went. 

I don't remember most of my stay. I think there was ukuleles and glitter paint involved. 

Oh, and they had _the best_ burgers, I swear. 

Alas, they too, could not find any problems with me or my mental state. 

In fact, they said I was one of the best patients they'd ever had. 

I know a lie when I hear one, but these particular words made me want to believe. 

It felt nice being the good person, at least for a moment. 

\----- 

Life at home was not my favorite. 

That didn't mean I wanted to be sent back to _yet another_ mental hospital. I was sent away regardless. 

This time for taking a hammer to my mother's door. 

What can I say? She pissed me off. Not only that, but she took my dog with her! The nerve of some people! 

Anyway, this incident earned me my shortest stay yet. At a different location, as well. The staff were, to put it nicely, completely useless. I couldn't say how many times I had a chance to escape. I didn't. If only because they had decent food, and I had a private room with a surprisingly comfortable bed. 

I did steal a book from them, just because I could. Also, they owed me for wasting my time. 

All in all it was a weekend trip. A mere forty-eight hours and I was good to go. 

I never did apologize to my mom for that. 

I couldn't bring myself to feel guilty. 

After all, turnabout's fair play. 

\----- 

That all took place in a six month period, by the way. 

And I have _so much_ more to tell. 

My life is a travesty, but dammit if I won't try to make a profit off it. 


End file.
